Fever Dreams of Being God
by lilacs and lolita
Summary: Somewhere out there, Light had a vague suspicion that the Shinigami overseeing this world were enjoying this spectacle, much as the Olympian Gods enjoyed messing with human affairs and watching their tragedies unfold.


**Fever Dreams of Being God**

**Author's Note**: Dedicated to SunMoonandSpoon. Surpriingly, I like Light Yagami, though this piece certainly shows him in a more satirical context. It's something that's like the light-hearted tone of Motorcycle Misadventures, which I thought would be a nice contrast to my other dramatic pieces such as Sweet Decadence, Beauty in Breakdown, and Of Solipsism and Vertigo. Possible oocness ahead for humorous purposes--read on.

* * *

Unbelievable. That's the only word that reverberated in Light Yagami's prodigious mind. The mechanisms of his mind, however, weren't as well-lubricated like normal; a terrible congestion greased up the cog-works. If the young genius wasn't mistaken, he caught the flu. He displayed all the necessary symptoms, a sore throat feeling like the strip of a raw piece of animal hide, a simultaneously pulsing and pounding headache, and sweat beading across his body that both chilled and scalded him. A morally upstanding citizen, Light pondered one thing; what in the name of God, Buddha, Allah or whatever entity out there had decided to curse him with this infernal disease?

Brown eyes rolled toward the ceiling, throbbing and causing a brilliant flash of light behind his eyelids. Light Yagami attempted to prop himself against the headboard into a sitting position, though he only managed to knock his head against the polished wood--cursing this indignity. The God of the New World did not succumb to these mortal diseases, and Light would be damned if the cursed influenza took control over _him_. However, Light couldn't continue his line of thought as he hunched forward, coughing uncontrollably. For one ridiculous moment, Light considered writing his own name down in the Death Note so he wouldn't have to suffer through this trial of humiliation.

Some other god out there must really despise him; that was the only rational explanation Light could come up with in his delirious mind, encumbered with a raging fever. Still coughing, Light clasped both hands to his mouth to muffle the sounds of his suffering, eyes watering. The expelled bursts of air came out of his lungs in great gasps, causing Light to unconsciously spasm from the sheer force of his coughing. Oh, how a heart attack would've been much more merciful than this prolonged torment. Somewhere out there, Light had a vague suspicion that the Shinigami overseeing this world were enjoying this spectacle, much as the Olympian Gods enjoyed messing with human affairs and watching their tragedies unfold.

Perhaps through some merciful act of compassion, a Shinigami would pen down his name in the Death Note. A few quick strokes of kanji, and then it would be all over. Light continued coughing into his hands, pretty sure that he probably spewed up blood in his fit. _Please let there be no blood_, he thinks frantically. Once he managed to regain control over himself, Light straightened, tentatively pulling his hands away from his mouth and staring at them. No blood, but there seemed to be copious amounts of congestive fluids.

_That came out of me_, Light thought with unsettling disturbance. _That much came out of me?_

Then, Light came to an epiphany. Someone out there was testing him. Yes, that must be it. Someone was testing him to see how he would handle this, to see if he was truly worthy of being the God of the New World. Yes, it made so much sense now--all the jumbled sentences of rationalization clicked together into a coherent whole. Well, Light Yagami sure as hell wouldn't let something like this get the better of him. Light almost congratulated himself on perceiving this conclusion so quickly; L Lawliet must be rolling in his grave.

_That's right. This is merely a test. It's no different from any other test that I've taken in my life--all I have to do is keep calm, think things clearly. Obviously, if I were to prove myself worthy of being the God of the New World, I have to take this with dignity. Kira would not allow the disease to control him--he's master of himself. Nothing can stop him; not God, not L, not the police, and most certainly not this...this trifling _cold.

"Light," Sachiko called through the door, making her presence known, before coming in with a tray of steaming soup and honey-brewed tea. "Sounds like you've caught something terrible--I wouldn't be surprised if you managed to catch the flu."

Light propped himself up on his pillows, feeling his muscles strain in protest against his movements. The self-proclaimed God of the New World hoped he at least bore the semblance of something befitting of a deity, like a king settling upon his throne with aristocratic dignity as he straightened to receive the tray. However, the effect was ruined when he coughed again, nearly spilling both the tea and soup onto himself. So much for being the God of the New World.

"Oh dear," Sachiko stated, doting over her son in the throes of his coughing fit, steadying the tray so that it didn't spill on his lap. "Here, I've got a compress for your fever…my, you're burning up. Here, sip some of your tea--it'll be good for your sore throat. Don't forget your soup; you can't get better if you have an empty stomach. See? Yes. Good boy."

Brushing away a few sweat-matted bangs from his heated forehead, Sachiko then clicked her tongue a couple of times, shaking her head. Light couldn't have been more humiliated--he morbidly accepted her maternal ministrations, but only because he didn't want to make a fool of himself. While Sachiko alternatively pressed the compress upon his forehead and spooned some chicken broth through his parted lips, Light internally cursed to himself. At least Misa wasn't here to witness this shameful display. His mother and even his sister were one thing; Misa, on the other hand, would make this trial insufferable.

"All finished," his mother stated coaxingly, putting the last spoonful of soup into his mouth. "Here, drink your tea--oh, you got some on your chin, dear; let me get that off with the napkin. There, much better. Oh, let me fluff up your pillows--are you comfortable enough, Light?"

Light tried to utter an affirmation, tell his mother he was fine, really, that he didn't need all this attention and smothering of affection, but the only thing he managed was a light groan, further embarrassing him. Why, why did Light have to suffer through this? Light Yagami the model student and athlete, the God of the New World that he will fashion in his revolutionary vision, did not deserve this. No, he did not deserve this at all, and Light felt a degenerating spiral of anger overcome him--however, he found that he didn't even have enough energy to maintain his anger or irritation; thus, he simply let his mother fuss with him. He learned to tolerate many things in his life; Light was known for his near unholy temperance. All he had to do was persevere. Yes, persevere--he could do it. He knew he could.

"All right. I think you're fine for now. I'll come back in a couple of hours or so to check back up on you, okay?"

Grunting, Light received a light kiss on the forehead for his noncommittal response, before he heard the door close. Throwing an arm across his eyes, Light then closed his searing lids, trying to concentrate on something else other than this infuriating illness. He couldn't sleep, damn it; not even after receiving attention from his mother, and having forced down tea and soup hadn't helped to calm down his nerves. No matter how tightly he shut his eyelids, that damnable headache kept ringing, doubling and diminishing in delirious volume at sporadic intervals. Something out there was really testing his patience; when Light finally recovered from this flu, he would make sure to kill an extra amount of criminals out of spite. Yes, that would make him feel better.

However, this pleasant reverie was interrupted by a soft knock against the door.

"Light? Can I come in?"

At this point, Light gave up. He only uttered another groan, which Sayu took as encouragement. Opening the door, his little sister stepped inside. Back toward her, Light could feel her hovering over him, making concerned comments about his condition--how feverish he looked, how sickly he appeared. How pathetic he was, Light mentally added to the end of her sentiments. How humiliating, how utterly humiliating--he prayed to some other God out there; hell, he would've gratefully prayed to the Shinigami so that Misa Amane wouldn't see him in his condition.

"Hey Light," Sayu stated, resting her hand on the edge of the bed.

"Ungh," was the intelligent response Light came up with. He attempted to vocalize all his frustrations and humiliation into a meaningful sound, though this utterance came out as some Neanderthal grunt.

"I'm not sure if this works, but I've heard that if you get a mouthful of salt water and gargle it for fifteen minutes or so, it'll help. That's what some friends have told me, anyway. I haven't had the flu before, so I wouldn't know, but…it couldn't hurt to try, right?"

Light couldn't even protest. He parted open his lips to speak, but no sound came out. Only a light rush of air that spewed forth through the room. Sayu, holding the glass of the aforementioned salt water in her hand, leaned over and tilted some of the liquid into Light's helpless mouth. His eyes watered upon reaction, and he felt his nostrils flaring with stinging pain. During this, he accidentally swallowed some of this unwanted concoction, forcing him to spit salted water over his face out of reflex.

"I guess it's safe to say it doesn't work," Sayu said wryly, wiping away water and spittle from Light's upturned face, which had been currently scrunched up in an expression of distaste. "Hey, when you get better, we might go to that coffee shop that recently opened up. I heard they've got the best cappuccinos. Coffee also has its perks, too, especially for people who work as hard as you do, Light."

Despite Light's less than attractive condition, he could only hear admiration in his little sister's tone--as though he shit diamonds from a platinum asshole*. Maybe on other occasions, he would've found his sister's belief in such a ridiculous cure amusing or perhaps cute, in a little sister-ish fashion, though Light certainly wasn't amused, and he didn't find the salt water stunt cute in the least. Not when it was tested on him, anyway. How many more trials would he have to suffer?

Light silently pleaded for his sister to leave him alone. However, being the overly friendly and gregarious person that she was, Sayu insisted spending on time with him, especially since she never got to see him very often, particularly with him working so hard as the leader of the Task Force. It might have touched him that his sister showed such undying devotion to him--if he wasn't so atrociously sick. Once again, Light had to tolerate another suffocating presence that probably halted his recuperating. Sometimes he wished his family would just _leave him alone_. He tried his hardest to listen to Sayu's conversation to distract himself from the dully thudding headache that sent white flashes behind his eyes, though no, he couldn't even concentrate on that.

"Ugh," Light groaned again, meant to be a sound of frustration, though it ended up sounding sickly and weak.

"Oh, Light. You sound awful, you really do. Misa is worried sick about you. She insisted she'll come over right away once her modeling shoot is over."

"Uuugh." More forceful this time.

"Ah! Sounds like you're going to throw up! Hold on, I'll be right back with a bucket!"

The sound of her footsteps rang forcefully in his ears while she dashed into the bathroom, reappearing only a few moments afterward as she sat the bucket to the side of his bed. Light could barely lean over, let alone wretch the tea and soup his mother forced down his unbearably dry throat. Light did part open his mouth, and at first, Light _did _think he was going to hurl. However, the best description of what actually happened was a silent burp--a burst of air erupted from his stomach. Sayu let out a sigh of relief, patting her brother on the back.

"I hope you feel better soon, Light. I wanted to spend more time with you, though I didn't exactly want our time spent together with you sick in bed all day. Sorry you've been going through this and everything."

"It's fine," Light said, his voice hoarse. "Just…"

_Just go away. Please._

"Oh!" Sayu suddenly exclaimed. "Sorry, I lost track of the time; I got to get to class pretty soon. I'm sorry I couldn't spend more time with you, Light--I promise that we'll go out one of these days. I'll pay for the coffee at that café, even. Just get better, all right?"

In her hurried rush of words, Light could barely comprehend what she was saying; however, he was grateful when he heard the door close, indicating his sister's departure. Perhaps now he could get some merciful sleep without all these unnecessary distractions. He needed time to himself, to rest his weary body, to rest his _mind_. Drifting off into a light doze that wasn't quite deep enough for actual slumber, Light's lashes fluttered a few times as he stared up at the ceiling, tracing the swirling patterns he recognized on its surface through his mind's eye and partially through his hazy vision. Before he could enter into a completely restful state, he heard the door open once more.

"Mom, I don't…" he began to say, before realizing something in his sleep-deprived haze. Sayu mentioned that Misa was supposed to come over, wasn't she?

"No, silly!" he heard the dreaded voice say, confirming his thought. "It's Misa! Misa told Sayu to tell you that she was going to come over after her photo shoot. You didn't think that Misa would forget about her Light-kun, did you?"

Cursing himself for revealing that he was still awake, Light then contemplated throwing up on the spot to disgust the blonde model; however, desperation hasn't completely taken over him yet (since Kira doesn't release vile substances from his body), and Light was too damned tired to produce soupy vomit. The scent of whatever perfume the blonde model wore like an aura of glamour dispersed throughout the room in nauseating sweetness that made Light's gorge rise. Rolling awkwardly onto his side so that his back now faced Misa, Light squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ignore the inane babble that greeted his ears. She continued on with her banter, hoping that he felt better, that they should have children soon, and other trivial things that Light didn't bother listening to.

_Stop…talking…_ he thought to himself, but his internal plead went unheeded by God, the Shinigami, and Misa.

"Oh, Light," Misa said in a tone of loving tenderness, which Light found to be utterly obscene, especially with all her crooning and preening.

_She's acting just like my _mother_._

Light couldn't even do anything to escape the situation--considering Misa's overly clingy nature and her enamored obsession with him, the young prodigy had no choice but to submit to this humiliating spectacle. Misa fussed with his mussed up brunette locks, staring down upon his face with an expression of the utmost tenderness. Light simply squeezed his eyes shut, trying to feign the guise of sleep once more, though the fact that she was watching him disconcerted him. Kira did not like being watched upon when he was unaware.

"Misa thinks she knows how to help," the blonde said, continually stroking his locks. "Have you tried gargling salt water for fifteen minutes, Light?"

"Aaugh."

"Light? Misa doesn't understand what you're trying to say."

"_Aaauuugh_."

"Misa will get the salt water," Misa said in a crooning voice, brushing her fingers through his hair, before parting from his bedside. When she came back, Light opened his mouth to tell Misa that he didn't need to gargle damned salt water a second time, she poured the contents of the cup through his parted lips. Light coughed and sputtered, eyes flaming. Misa clapped her hands together, tilting her head to the side in a manner other people would have considered endearing. "Yes, you're doing a wonderful job, Light."

Light could've just spit the damned nasty water at Misa right then. Could she really be that oblivious to his pain? Wanting to throw up and cry all at once, Light Yagami simply lay against the bed, salt water and drool running down the corners of his mouth. Misa dutifully wiped off his face, smiling gently as she did so, staring at Light with the same expression his sister did. Then, surprisingly enough, Misa came to a revelation. "Oh! Silly Misa! Did you take any pills, Light?"

This time, Light Yagami vomited and wept. Taking note of this, Misa then said, "Misa will get those pills, then."

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* Quote courtesy of Stephen King


End file.
